


Be Still In Haste

by ghost_ride_the_wip



Series: A Few Weeks Back [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: And Uh Love, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Forgiveness, Krill Ponds, Mutual Pining, just two single parents who LIKE like each other, the lost weeks on Sorgan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:53:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21787816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghost_ride_the_wip/pseuds/ghost_ride_the_wip
Summary: An evening on Sorgan.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Omera (Star Wars)
Series: A Few Weeks Back [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570162
Comments: 23
Kudos: 187





	Be Still In Haste

**Author's Note:**

> How quietly I  
> begin again
> 
> from this moment  
> looking at the  
> clock, I start over
> 
> so much time has  
> passed, and is equaled  
> by whatever  
> split-second is present
> 
> from this  
> moment this moment  
> is the first  
> \- "Be still in Haste" by Wendell Berry

Omera’s hands were broad and scarred and strong. Wrapped around the handle of a blaster or stroking the kid's long pointy ears, they moved with purpose, deft and capable. Even now as she knelt in the dirt at the edge of a damaged pond, the motion of her hands was captivating, fingers sifting through the brown water at the bank.

“There’s another piece here.” She called over her shoulder, digging down into the mud.

She shifted, the muscles of her arms pulling the fabric of her sleeves taught as she yanked a chunk of steel free from the bank. One of the other villagers brought a basket over for her, and Omera tossed the metal in with a triumphant grin.

“I think its almost clear” She said confidently, wiping the sweat from her brow with her forearm and smearing a faint line of dirt across her skin in the process. She looked up at him then. “Did you find any more of the stabilizers?”

The Mandalorian was still for a moment, trying to remember why he was standing waist deep in a krill pond and what he had been doing before he’d gotten so distracted.

“Yes” He said robotically, wading over to the bank to hand her the small stack of metal he’d collected from the floor of the pond. They’d been trawling through the muddy water all afternoon. “But that looks like the last of it.”

“Good.” Omera nodded, reaching down to take the parts and transferring them to the basket of other steel fragments. “I think this pond will recover. We’ll resew it after the next rain.” She said, thinking out loud. Her hair brushed his wrist as she took a particularly hefty strut from his arms. She weighed it in her hands and nodded approvingly. “We’ve got a lot of scrap to trade.” She said. “Enough to rebuild.”

“More than enough” The Mandalorian nodded over to the wrecked AT-ST they’d hauled out of the pond that morning.

It had been about a week since they’d taken it down and fought off the raiders. After several nights of celebration and several more to sleep off their hangovers, the villagers had finally come together to drag the war machine out and started gutting it for parts. The hulking beast lay defeatedly in the grassy meadow at the edge of the village, weeds already twisting up to claim its broken shell.

It was hideous sight, a reminder of the bloody battle that had very nearly been the end of her village; but it made Omera smile, softening the rough edges of her so often serious face. Standing so close in the pond below her, the Mandalorian was helpless against it. He stood uselessly in the cold water as she sat back on the bank, the warm afternoon sun bathing her skin in gold.

“When you first came here, I thought you were going to be the end of us.”

She was looking at him with a mess of amusement and earnestness and he didn’t know how to respond.

“I took one look at the armor and the weapons, and I wanted to send you away.” She admitted. “I saw you and saw all the faceless soldier’s I’d ever met; Men and women who brought war wherever they went. I saw myself.” She glanced away. “My _younger_ self.”

“You served.” The Mandalorian said. It wasn’t a question. He had known Omera was ex-military from the first time he’d seen fire a gun with the skills of a trained and qualified sharpshooter. 

Omera nodded. She looked back to him expectantly. “Aren’t you going to ask what side I fought for?” She asked at length.

Whoever Omera had been, whatever the war had made her into, it was clear she’d left it behind and chosen this life on Sorgan. He didn’t need to know who she was then. He knew who she was now. He liked who she was now.

“The war is over.” He said simply.

It wasn’t the answer Omera had anticipated. He was glad when her smile returned.

“I was so wrong about you.” She said. “You brought us something we haven’t had in a long time. Peace.”

_You brought peace to my valley_

It was the second time in recent days that the Mandalorian had been thanked for restoring harmony to a place in need, and for the second time he knew he didn’t deserve the gratitude.

Shooting up the base on Arvala-7 had been about personal gain- just the means to securing his bounty and getting a payday from a client. A client he knew was Empire no less.

Defending Sorgan hadn’t been an unselfish act. He had done it because he sympathized with their struggle, and admired them for refusing to abandon their home, sure. But he’d also done it because if they succeeded, Sorgan would be the safe, secure place for the kid that he was looking for.

He wanted to turn away, to go back to the easy rhythm of quiet work and stolen glances. But the pond was clear, and the sun was getting low. And she was smiling at him, and no matter how undeserving he was, he couldn’t seem to find the strength to look anywhere else.

Omera leant forward at the bank, and suddenly they were face to face.

She considered him carefully. “Can I ask you something?”

It was a dangerous proposal.

“Yes”

“The child,” She said. “Did you take him in, like the Mandalorians’ took you in?”

There was a long pause between them, long enough for the Mandalorian to notice the freckles dusting Omera’s cheeks, so faint they were only visible up so close.

He held onto her soft smile a moment longer before he told her the truth.

“No.” He said. “Well, not at first.” He took a breath. “He was a contract. I was hired to hunt him down.”

Omera went quiet. He watched in silent anguish as a frown settled between her brows.

“Who would put a contract out on a baby?” She asked, appalled by the notion.

“The client didn’t give his name.”

“What did they want with him?”

“I didn’t ask.”

He omitted the part where he had assumed his target was going to be some fifty-year-old rebellion general that had ticked off the empire, because as much as it hurt, he wanted Omera to judge him. To abhor him. Even fear him.

Because if she hated him, he could extinguish this flame in his chest. This burning, yearning hope that had been lit the moment they’d met. Every look, every smile was fuel to the fire, and it was getting harder and harder to ignore the way it roared to life every time she was near.

Standing to his waist in the cold, dirty water, he looked up at her, silently begging her to despise him, for her to name him a heartless bastard and to let it be true. And she looked back at him, making up her mind.

“You couldn’t do it…” She said, noticing the gap in his story. “You didn’t turn in the child.”

“I did.” The Mandalorian confessed, feeling her aversion slipping away. “I handed him over to a doctor that experimented on him.” The memory stung, the kids frightened face flashing behind his eyes, but he pushed on. “They drugged him. Strapped him to a table. They were going to kill him.”

“And yet the child is here with you now.”

The Mandalorian turned away from her softening gaze, but Omera reached out and touched her fingertips to his helmet, tilting his head back up to look at her. Her face was solemn, but her eyes were gentle.

“You went back for him?” She asked.

The Mandalorian didn’t reply.

“You made the right choice.”

“Not at first.”

“Not at first.” Omera agreed. “But our mistakes don’t have to define us. You got a second chance, and you did the right thing. Isn’t that what matters?”

She left no room for discussion, and the Mandalorian ran out of will to resist her compassion. In the waning light he let Omera forgive him. She looked at him with a tenderness he wished he could return, but all she would see was the cold lines of his visor. As her thumb slid delicately along the ridge of his helmet he wished, not for the first time since he’d come to Sorgan, that he could just rip it off. Years of unflinching belief in the Way seemed to dissolve in Omera’s hands as they smoothed over the unfeeling steel.

He closed his eyes and imagined that the barrier didn’t exist. That her warm palms were grazing the skin of his jaw.

“You’re… You’re very kind.” He managed after a time.

Omera smiled softly. “I’m living my second chance as well.” She said.

In the sinking sun, standing in the stagnant pond, the Mandalorian felt tired. Tired of turning away, tired of watching joy and contentment from a distance and denying it for himself. 

If Omera had slipped her hands down, and removed his helmet right then, he didn’t think he would have even tried to stop her.

But she didn’t. She just sat with him for a while, sharing the silence of all their unspoken words, until finally she stood up, and offered down her hand.

“Come on.” She said. “Lets get you dried off. Your boy will be wondering where you’ve gotten to.”

 _His boy_. It sounded good. Much warmer than Foundling.

He took her hand, relishing her strong grip as she pulled him out of the pond and up onto the bank. She didn’t let go, and neither did he, even though he knew he should. She entwined their fingers; It was such a small gesture, and somehow it made him feel weak and ungainly, and calm all at the same time. It was like he was stuck spinning between fight and flight, the fire in his chest roaring and hungry and afraid- but beneath all the chaos, something about it felt simple. Something about it felt right.

They began back toward the village where smoke was rising from the cooking hut, carrying with it a fragrant promise of an evening meal. The Mandalorian was soaked through, but there was enough heat left in the day to bring some warmth back into his muscles as they walked. The sun was edging toward the horizon, bouncing the last rays of light off the still ponds and painting the sky in burning orange and pink.

“The days are getting long.” Omera said. “In summer the sky stays golden for hours into the night.”

They were wandering, the both of them dragging out their steps, making every moment last.

“I see why you chose this place,” The Mandalorian said. “to start fresh.”

“Yes.” She smiled to herself, and squeezed his gloved hand in hers. “It seems to be a place for second chances.”

**Author's Note:**

> LET THEM HOLD HANDS


End file.
